Excision (Piecemeal)
Be not afraid, for it is not slash. I'm just going demon-stomping.
Of course it's unfinished.
His left leg is still gone.
Edward has an inkling, a loose idea of fluid pushed into his mouth to make him sleep. Winry held his head and made him swallow. It didn't stay down; it didn't last long. Now there's nothing between him and the pain.
He breathes as deep as he can, grits his teeth and shoves against the bandages. Hurting is better than thinking about his leg. Hurting a lot is better than dreaming about his leg.
Anything is better than dreaming about Alphonse.
It woke him up. The house is dark; everyone's asleep but him.
His eyes sting, gritty and raw, but he can't cry anymore. Not because it's for sissies--that's stupid, kids think that and he's not a kid, he's a State Alchemist--he just can't. The tears won't come.
His nose itches.
"Brother?" Al's eyes glow in the dark, bright red.
Ed doesn't flinch. He doesn't dare sneeze, either. He'd scream and wake up the household; he can't ask them to do more for him. They've done so much already.
He doesn't deserve any of it.
"Hey, Al," he croaks. His tongue keeps sticking to the bottom of his mouth. He might cough. The thought makes him want to die. "Couldn't sleep?"
"I don't sleep. I tried before," says Al, hinges creaking softly as he pads closer. "I wanted to see you."
"Oh." Ed tries to grin. His face twitches. Close enough. "Well, now you get to stay up late all the time."
"I guess." The helmet has no expression, but Al sounds a little less glum.
There's a hot sudden pinprick at the base of Ed's neck. It's all the warning he gets--his shoulder heaves, locked up, the new arm bucking on its own like it's trying to tear loose and crawl away.
"Brother!"
Al's shriek is weird and distant, coming at him through a haze of agony. Ed doesn't scream. He can't even breathe. He sees a cloud of lights--Al is running from the room, his voice shrill, and nothing has ever hurt like this...
It's morning when he opens his eyes again.
Al is still there.
Ed clings to that, makes himself smile. He's so sore his teeth ache.
"Granny fixed it," Winry chirps as she bustles in. "I helped. Some of the pins went out of synch. It must have happened while you slept."
He wishes he could hit her. He can hardly move. He's ready to cry again, but he still can't, so he leans his weight on the wall and says,
"Thanks."
She nods happily, leaves some more of the tea on a tray by the bed.
"I'll be back in a while," she says, "or you and Al could have some instead, whichever. It'll help you relax."
"Thanks." It hurts to talk. "I mean it, Winry."
"Anytime." Her shoulders sag a little as she shuts the door.
For a moment, all they do is look at each other. Ed looks away first. A sunbeam inches across the floor.
The whole world was different a week ago.
"Here, Al, try some tea," says Ed.
"Won't I rust?"
That hadn't occurred to him. "I could fix it if you did."
"My seal? Would it be okay?"
Ed wants to scream. I don't know, I don't know anything, I'm sorry.
"It should be fine. It's kind of hidden under the neck part, anyway, right?"
Al makes a determined noise and reaches for the tray. His gauntlet rattles against the tiny porcelain cup. He lifts it with bizarre gentility.
"To us," he says, and tips back his visor. In it goes. He shudders. "Wow!"
"Alphonse!" Ed sounds like a girl when he's frightened.
That helmet never moves. Ed gets the distinct impression he's being squinted at.
"I just--really felt it," said Al. "That's all." He swings one hollow leg around, sits Indian-style on the floor. "I can't...I don't feel some things."
Of course it's unfinished.
His left leg is still gone.
Edward has an inkling, a loose idea of fluid pushed into his mouth to make him sleep. Winry held his head and made him swallow. It didn't stay down; it didn't last long. Now there's nothing between him and the pain.
He breathes as deep as he can, grits his teeth and shoves against the bandages. Hurting is better than thinking about his leg. Hurting a lot is better than dreaming about his leg.
Anything is better than dreaming about Alphonse.
It woke him up. The house is dark; everyone's asleep but him.
His eyes sting, gritty and raw, but he can't cry anymore. Not because it's for sissies--that's stupid, kids think that and he's not a kid, he's a State Alchemist--he just can't. The tears won't come.
His nose itches.
"Brother?" Al's eyes glow in the dark, bright red.
Ed doesn't flinch. He doesn't dare sneeze, either. He'd scream and wake up the household; he can't ask them to do more for him. They've done so much already.
He doesn't deserve any of it.
"Hey, Al," he croaks. His tongue keeps sticking to the bottom of his mouth. He might cough. The thought makes him want to die. "Couldn't sleep?"
"I don't sleep. I tried before," says Al, hinges creaking softly as he pads closer. "I wanted to see you."
"Oh." Ed tries to grin. His face twitches. Close enough. "Well, now you get to stay up late all the time."
"I guess." The helmet has no expression, but Al sounds a little less glum.
There's a hot sudden pinprick at the base of Ed's neck. It's all the warning he gets--his shoulder heaves, locked up, the new arm bucking on its own like it's trying to tear loose and crawl away.
"Brother!"
Al's shriek is weird and distant, coming at him through a haze of agony. Ed doesn't scream. He can't even breathe. He sees a cloud of lights--Al is running from the room, his voice shrill, and nothing has ever hurt like this...
It's morning when he opens his eyes again.
Al is still there.
Ed clings to that, makes himself smile. He's so sore his teeth ache.
"Granny fixed it," Winry chirps as she bustles in. "I helped. Some of the pins went out of synch. It must have happened while you slept."
He wishes he could hit her. He can hardly move. He's ready to cry again, but he still can't, so he leans his weight on the wall and says,
"Thanks."
She nods happily, leaves some more of the tea on a tray by the bed.
"I'll be back in a while," she says, "or you and Al could have some instead, whichever. It'll help you relax."
"Thanks." It hurts to talk. "I mean it, Winry."
"Anytime." Her shoulders sag a little as she shuts the door.
For a moment, all they do is look at each other. Ed looks away first. A sunbeam inches across the floor.
The whole world was different a week ago.
"Here, Al, try some tea," says Ed.
"Won't I rust?"
That hadn't occurred to him. "I could fix it if you did."
"My seal? Would it be okay?"
Ed wants to scream. I don't know, I don't know anything, I'm sorry.
"It should be fine. It's kind of hidden under the neck part, anyway, right?"
Al makes a determined noise and reaches for the tray. His gauntlet rattles against the tiny porcelain cup. He lifts it with bizarre gentility.
"To us," he says, and tips back his visor. In it goes. He shudders. "Wow!"
"Alphonse!" Ed sounds like a girl when he's frightened.
That helmet never moves. Ed gets the distinct impression he's being squinted at.
"I just--really felt it," said Al. "That's all." He swings one hollow leg around, sits Indian-style on the floor. "I can't...I don't feel some things."